


Worth her weight in latinum

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Trek Deep Space Nine crossover.  Admiral Bolton and his new wife honeymoon on Deep Space Nine, enjoying an evening at Quark’s Bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth her weight in latinum

“The usual, Admiral?”

Roose Bolton looked up to find a rather well-dressed Ferengi smiling politely at him. 

“Hippocras, Quark,” he acknowledged in his whispery voice, and took a long sip when the bartender brought the mulled wine over from the replicator. 

“So what brings you all the way to this part of the galaxy, Admiral? Business or pleasure?” He smiled suggestively. “I have some rather interesting holosuite programs since last you were here.”

“I don’t think so,” Bolton replied, taking another slow drink. “I’m afraid that this time, it’s both.” 

Quark laughed, a fake cordial sound. “You sound like a Ferengi, Admiral. Aren’t they the same thing?”

Roose Bolton smiled, but it was rather cold. His eyes were trained on a rather plump young woman in a bright pink minidress who was shrieking with laughter over by the Dabo tables. A large pile of latinum lay in front of her and from the looks of it, more was coming her way with the most recent spin.

“Never seen _her_ here before,” Quark said, turning his head in the girl’s direction. “She’s cleaning me out.”

“She happens to be my wife.” Bolton watched as Walda gathered up her winnings, placing them in a locking bag that she wore on her shoulder. 

“I suppose then that congratulations are in order,” Quark said, but he made no move to comp Bolton’s drink. He raised the flagon of hippocras, clicking against Bolton’s goblet. “She’s quite an interesting woman, to say the least, Admiral. Where did a man like you meet a girl like that?” 

Bolton did not take the question as an insult. “She’s Walder Frey’s granddaughter.” That piqued Quark’s interest. Walder Frey, although lacking any sort of office that would put him high in Starfleet’s regard, was one of the most successful and notorious Terran merchants. He was no stranger to the Ferengi, having rivaled them coin for coin in every recent dealing. 

“Frey’s?” Quark said. “That explains it. The Grand Nagus always said that that he was the only human with the lobes to compete with the Ferengi. How’d you manage that?”

Bolton chuckled at his host’s consternation. “A business deal. Part of it was, Frey offered me any of his female relatives as a wife, with the condition that he’d give me the woman’s weight in gold-pressed latinum. So-”

“So,” Quark interrupted, rubbing his hands together with glee, “you picked the fattest one.”

Bolton nodded, and they shared a drink as Walda shoveled more bars into her bag. 

“You mentioned business,” Quark prodded, after some time. “Anything I might assist you with, Admiral?” 

Bolton furtively slid his pad across the counter, and as Quark read the information, he bared his sharp teeth in his first genuine smile of the evening. “In the market for a cloaking device, Admiral Bolton? A little wedding present for the little woman?”

“Actually,” Bolton said mildly, “this was Walda’s wedding present. She wanted so to see the wormhole, so I brought her here on my furlough. The cloaking device is a private matter.” 

“Well then,” Quark said in a low voice, “I’ll see what I can do. Meet me here this evening at 0200 hours, after the bar closes. In the meantime, enjoy your honeymoon, Admiral.”

“I intend to,” Bolton said, draining his glass and collecting his wife from the Dabo table.

*

Walda lay in the unforgiving Cardassian bed, eagerly awaiting Roose’s return. He had pleaded her forgiveness, explaining that he had a last-minute business meeting, and she’d shrugged off the excuse, eager to explore the shops on the Promenade at her leisure. After making a brief stop to purchase a wedding gift for her beloved husband, she visited a clothing shop where she bought herself a rather costly present with some of her winnings, justifying her extravagance with the knowledge that the extremely revealing nightdress would please Roose as much as it pleased her. 

And when Roose entered some time later, shortly after 2 a.m., she carefully wrapped her robe around her and massaged his shoulders, noting the faint lines of annoyance on his face. 

“Is there something that I can do to help you relax?” she asked, stroking his chest with one eager hand while the other smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You seem so tense.”

“The deal,” Roose murmured, craning his neck to kiss Walda, “fell through. Some sort of last-minute complication. I suppose that I should have known better than to trust a Ferengi.”

“They seemed nice enough this evening at the bar,” she said, “at least they were polite when I took their latinum. _Once you have their money, never give it back_ ,” she said in a funny voice, a decent impersonation of Quark. “My grandfather was rather fond of the Rules of Acquisition,” she offered, in way of explanation. “But you should open your wedding presents. That will cheer you up!” She brought a large package, wrapped in pink tulle, over to Roose, setting it on his lap. “Number one,” she said, giggling, as he struggled with the wrapping. 

It was a cloaking device. 

“How did you get this?” Roose asked, surprised at the contents of the deceptively childish packaging. 

“Well,” Walda sighed, “I knew that you wanted one, and that Rom fellow, the bartender’s brother, told me that they had one for sale. So when I went out to the Promenade I returned to the bar to pick it up, and here it is!”

Roose smiled slightly in amusement. Quark had offered a rather snarky apology, informing Bolton that another buyer had come up at the last minute and he had had no choice but to let the device go. He had seemed to take far too much pleasure in the Admiral’s annoyance, but had not been so pleased at the unspoken threat in Bolton’s expression. 

“Just as I wanted, little wife,” he said, pressing her hand to his lips. She flushed, pink with pleasure. 

“Number two,” Walda whispered, holding out the sash of her robe, and Roose complied, pulling it until the belt fell open and it fell from her shoulders, baring the scandalously revealing lingerie that she had purchased just a few short hours ago in Garak’s. 

The smile did not leave his face; in fact it deepened. 

“Oh, you do like it,” she sighed. “He told me that you would, the tailor, I forgot his name. Such a nice man, really. It’s apparently the latest in Cardassian fashion.”

“I had not thought the Cardassians to be so…open…about things,” Roose said, as he toyed with the edges of her neckline, which plunged almost to her waist. He led her to the hard, narrow mattress, although soon, neither of them noticed or even cared how uncomfortable it really was.


End file.
